“Why does that woman stare at me like that? I don’t like her! What has she done with me?” Mina cried in anguish.
Rhys tried to soothe her, but he was shaken himself by the sight of the hard-faced, amber-eyed woman gazing back at them from the black crystal.
“Woo boy,” said Nightshade. Coming up to stand beside Rhys, the kender stared at Mina, then he stared at the reflection in the crystal monolith and rubbed his eyes and scratched his head. “Woo boy,” he said again.
Shaking his head in perplexity, he turned to Rhys.
“I hate to add to our problems, especially since they appear to be real doozies, but you should probably know that there’s a large group of minotaur soldiers up on that ridge.”
The kender squinted, shaded his eyes with his hand. “And I know this sounds strange, Rhys, but I think they have an elf with them.”
5
Galdar was plagued by ghosts. Not ghosts of the dead, as during the War of Souls. Ghosts of himself, of his own dead past. Here, in Neraka, Mina had walked into this valley and into his life and forever changed him. He had not been in the valley since that night which had been both terrible and wonderful. He had not been back in Neraka until now, and he was not happy to return. Time had healed the wound The scar tissue had grown over his stump. But his memories ached and throbbed and tormented him like the pain of his phantom arm.
“The dwarves call this place Gamashinoch,” Galdar said. “It means ‘Song of Death’. Guess they don’t call it that now, ’cause the singing’s stopped, Sargas be praised,” he added.
He talked to the only person with him—Valthonis—and Galdar wasn’t talking to Valthonis because he enjoyed conversing with the elf. The racial hatred between minotaur and elves went back centuries, and Galdar saw no reason why the hatred shouldn’t last a few more. As for this elf being the ‘Walking God’, Galdar had himself been witness to the transformation so he knew the tale was true. What he didn’t understand was why everyone was making such a fuss over him. So he’d once been a god? What of it? He was a man now and had to take a crap in the woods like everyone else.
Galdar was mainly talking because he had to talk or else listen to the eerie silence that blanketed the valley. At that, Galdar had to admit the silence was better than that horrible singing they’d heard when he’d last been here. The lamenting souls of the dead had finally departed.
Galdar and Valthonis entered the valley alone; Galdar having ordered his men to stay on the ridge. His soldiers protested the decision. They even dared to argue with him, and no minotaur ever argued with his commanding officer. If Galdar insisted upon entering this accursed valley, his men wanted to come with him.
The minotaur soldiers admired Galdar. He was plain-speaking and blunt, and they liked that in a commander. He shared their hardships, and he made no secret of the fact that he didn’t like this assignment any better than they did, especially coming to the accursed valley of Neraka.
Takhisis had been Sargas’ consort, but there had been no love lost between them. Her favored race, the ogres, had long been enemies of the minotaur, at one time enslaving and brutalizing them. Sargas had pleaded their cause, but she had laughed at him and mocked him and his minotaur race. She was now dead and gone, or so people claimed. The minotaurs did not trust Takhisis, however. She’d been banished once by Huma Dragonbane and she’d come back. She might rise again, and no one wanted to walk the dark valley where she had once reigned.
“If you’re not back by noon, we’re coming in to get you, sir,” stated his second-in-command, and the other minotaurs raised their voices in agreement.
“No, you won’t,” Galdar said, glaring around at them. “If I’m not back by sunset, return to Jelek. Make your report to the priests of Sargas.”
“And what do we say, sir?” his second demanded.
“That I did as Sargas commanded,” Galdar answered proudly.
His men understood him, and though they did not like it, they no longer argued. They left the ridge and returned to the foothills, to while away the time with a game of bones, in which none took much pleasure.
Galdar and the elf continued making their way down what was left of a road. Galdar wondered if it was the road he’d walked that night, the night of the storm, the night of Mina. He didn’t recognize it, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d gone out of his way to try to forget that nightmarish march.
“I first came here with a patrol the night of the great storm,” Galdar explained as they left the road and entered the valley. “We didn’t know it at the time, but the storm was Takhisis, announcing to the world that the One God was back and this time she meant to have it all. We were under the command of Talon Leader Magitt, a bully and a coward, the sort of commander that would always run from a battle, only to pull some stupid stunt to try prove how brave he was and get half his men killed in the process.”
Talon Leader Magitt dismounted his horse. “We will set up camp here. Pitch my command tent near the tallest of those monoliths. Galdar, you’re in charge of setting up camp. I trust you can handle that simple task?”
His words seemed unnaturally loud, his voice shrill and raucous. A breath of air, cold and sharp, hissed through the valley, sent the sand into dust devils that swirled across the barren ground and whispered away.
“You are making a mistake, sir,” said Galdar in a soft undertone, to disturb the silence as little as possible. “We are not wanted here.”
“Who does not want us, Galdar?” Talon Leader Magitt sneered. “These rocks?” He slapped the side of a black crystal monolith. “Ha! What a thick-skulled, superstitious cow!”
“We made camp,” said Galdar, his voice low and solemn. “In this valley. Among the blasted ruins of her temple.”
A man could see his reflection in those glossy black planes, a reflection that was distorted, twisted, yet completely recognizable as being a reflection of himself….
These men, long since hardened against every good feeling, looked into the shining black plane of the crystals and were appalled by the faces that looked back. For on those faces they could see their mouths open to sing the terrible song.
Galdar glanced at the black crystalline monoliths that littered the valley, and he could not repress a shudder.
“Go ahead, look into one of them,” he said to Valthonis. “You won’t like what you see. The rock twists your reflection, so that you see yourself as some sort of monster.”
Valthonis stopped to stare at one of the rocks. Galdar halted, too, thinking it would be amusing to see the elf’s reaction. Valthonis gazed at his reflection, then glanced at Galdar. The minotaur stepped up behind the elf to see what he was seeing. The elf’s reflection glistened in the rock. The reflection was the same as the reality—an elf with a weathered face and ancient eyes.
“Hunh,” Galdar grunted. “Maybe the curse on the valley has been lifted. I haven’t been here since the war ended.”
He elbowed Valthonis aside and stood before the rock and gazed boldly at himself.
The Galdar reflected in the rock had two good arms.
“Give me your hand, Galdar,” Mina said to him.
At the sound of her voice, rough, sweet, he heard again the song singing among the rocks. He felt his hackles rise. A shudder went through him, a thrill flashed along his spine. He meant to turn away from her, but he found himself raising his left hand.
“No, Galdar,” said Mina. “Your right hand. Give me your right hand.”
“I have no right hand!” Galdar cried out in rage and anguish.
He watched his arm, his right arm, lift; watched his hand, his right hand, reach out trembling fingers.